


Kisses and Kerosene

by iDiru



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Both of them have control issues, Bottom Peter, Dirty Talk, Dog Jokes, Dubious Consent, Everything is technically consensual but morally ambiguous, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Insults, Jealous Roman, M/M, Miranda is only mentioned briefly, Multiple Orgasms, POV Multiple, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pegging Mentions, Peter has a lot of sexual hangups, Peter is kinkier than he lets on, Peter isn't into anal but he will be, Prostitution, Revenge Sex, Rimming, Roman doesn't know much about anal but he'll sure try, Roman is 100 percent straight, Roman is a bitch, Roman is in denial, Scratching, Serious Grudge Holding, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Incompatibility, Spit As Lube, Top Roman, masturbation mentions, mentions of drug use, this was supposed to be a oneshot, until he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iDiru/pseuds/iDiru
Summary: Peter finds an alternative method of making money and Roman uses it to get his revenge on him for leaving. At least, that's what he convinces himself he's doing.





	Kisses and Kerosene

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing this fandom so please be gentle thanks

            Blood was supposed to be a simple thing. A sanguine group of cells that you needed to function. If you lost too much, you could have it replenished simply by giving someone your own genetic blood code that most people shared. It was essential, but it was easy. What it was not supposed to be was something that needed to be sought out and hidden like a shameful secret. Blood was not something that drove someone to madness with craving. Normal people didn’t have to decide between writhing in agony and killing a man. Roman, however, was clearly not a normal person; this was beyond obvious when a successful suicide attempt only brought him back a monster. He wasn’t a monster; that’s what he told himself anyway, but he could only deny what he truly was for so long. He could admit to doing some terrible things but the urge to kill and devour was deplorable. But the cravings were so much bigger than him. It wasn’t like the craving for cigarettes or cocaine; it was physical agony.

 

                It was like someone taking out his bowel and running it through a wringer while it was still attached. It was a hunger that was rarely satiated and even when it was, the thought easily crept into his mind unless he kept himself busy. So he kept himself busy by doing all that he could to keep the hunger and anger at bay.

 

                For the time being Roman was as sated as he could be. The taste of blood and bile clung to his tongue and bits of rubbery flesh stuck in his back molars. His coat pocket shifted with the movement of about a dozen wriggling, fat, black invertebrates stuffed to the brim with blood. Though he was for the time being not in agonizing starvation, they still called to him with their movement. If he didn’t control himself he would devour them all with the desperation not unlike a man who hadn’t eaten in days.

 

                He washed the taste and residue from his mouth with a flask of whiskey and pocketed his room key as he made his way from the shady motel and across the dimly lit parking lot. He was a regular here and gave business to an aged male prostitute in exchange for the leeches now in his pocket after they’d had their fill of him. The man was discreet, but there were few people who would cross him considering he owned half the town.

 

                Roman planned to return here and take advantage of the place being known as a fuck motel. When he was trying to forget the hunger he turned to sex. He was finding it more and more difficult to actually focus on starting it, but once he was able to the hunger was replaced by another baser desire.

 

                He could lose himself in the warmth of a woman. In the scent of cheap perfume, and the faked cries of pleasure that almost drowned out the voice that told him to tear out her throat. In the back of his mind he knew this couldn’t last. Eventually his thoughts would one day drift to the thought of teeth on her neck and more blood in his mouth than he could handle. How she would scream and beg for mercy but her cries would fall on deaf ears because his lust for blood would be far stronger than his lust for sex. He’d drain her dry and call Pryce to dispose of her body. He’d have to live with the fact that he killed someone out of starvation. He’d have to remember it for the remainder of what would probably be an unnaturally long life. He’d probably want to end it after that but he knew it wouldn’t kill him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried already.

 

                Roman pushed these thoughts from his mind and climbed into the car. He would just ignore the fact that these thoughts had already surfaced, but the only reason they were there in the first place was because his mind knew he didn’t want them there.

 

                The motel itself ran a discreet prostitution ring run by a very unassuming middle aged man who looked more likely to peddle groceries than sex. Unassuming as he may be, Roman knew he treated his girls poorly and he would rather not support that kind of bullshit. At one time he may not have cared, but he was so frequently at war with the venomous blackness that was his inner psyche that, even subconsciously, he needed to do some good to balance out how fucked up he was. So he picked up hookers from the red light district.

 

                He didn’t know who owned them, or if they were truly owned. He didn’t know their stories or know them, and if he didn’t know, he couldn’t feel guilty enough to stay away. The problem with this was there was more risk of them being unclean, but Roman was careful and he wasn’t entirely sure he could even _get_ an STD. But Roman could usually tell to stay away from the ones who looked strung out on meth or crack, and driving a Maserati generally attracted the attention of women thinking he’d pay well, and it was basically like an all you can fuck buffet. But Roman usually did pay well, and most of the women knew him already.

 

                Like most women knew him, he knew most of them. He recognized them and he recognized when they weren’t there, or people he didn’t know that seemed to have found their way to the corner. So he knew the presence of a new male was something at first a little shocking, but the realization of just who he was looking at sent a deep sinking feeling low in his stomach. He wasn’t even sure just what emotion he was feeling; anger, guilt, a pang of nausea and morose. As much as Roman told himself he could never forgive that flea-bitten shit, Peter had at one point been his friend and seeing him on the corner was jarring.

 

                He watched him longer than he’d ever care to admit. It was almost predatory and perhaps bordering on obsessive and creepy. He watched the way he held himself; it was not with confidence but rather exhaustion. He looked completely unapproachable and if he was trying to pick someone up he was doing it wrong. But Roman had to assume this was his game, because even though he looked miserable he dressed differently. Showed a little more skin with the buttons of his shirt and pants that hugged him a little closer. Maybe, perhaps, he had just changed his way of dressing but the likelihood of that was slim.

                He was leaned heavily against a wall, speaking to a woman next to him who was very clearly there to pick someone up. Or rather, to be picked up. A cigarette dangled from between his fingers, mostly burning away until he took one last drag from it and tossed it aside. He noted almost absentmindedly a healing cut along one of his eyebrows where it looked like he may have been hit. He tried not to care; tried to tell himself the fucker deserved it. He deserved whatever the hell he got coming to him, but truthfully it hurt. All of it hurt. It hurt and it made him angry. He didn’t even know _why_ he was angry.

 

                A thousand different thoughts were clouding his mind and he could barely focus on one of them. It was the underlying thought of hunger as usual but there were other thoughts. Like lanterns in the sky after the death of Brooke Bluebell, and how fucking ethereal Peter looked beneath them to him in that moment. Something that probably shouldn’t exist, and even then and before that, he had been so inexplicably drawn to him. Drawn to something that was so unnatural, probably because he himself was not so different. Maybe that’s why it felt like such betrayal. How Peter could just come into his life, tear it apart at the seams and leave him with nothing.

 

                He remembered the first time, how Peter just decided so easily he was done with him, and how it was _his_ fault that Peter was done with him. How it was so fucking easy and how much it pissed him off; how easily he just went after Letha next. The final nail in the coffin of betrayal, to do exactly what he specifically told him not to do. He hated himself for how easily he forgave Peter and apologized, because if he had known he’d do the same thing in a matter of weeks when he truly needed him most, he would have tried to cut ties there. He would have saved himself the heartache. 

 

                So here he was again, after Roman had struggled to tell him to fuck off the first time he’d seen him. After he’d promised himself he couldn’t give a shit what happened to Peter as long as he left him alone. But this made him angry and guilty. How had it come to this? How could he do this? But then there was another thought, small and trying to be as insignificant as possible but it was anything but. How could Peter just screw all these people? _How could he just fuck someone else?_

 

                That was fucking ridiculous. Who did he mean? Who was the someone who he wasn’t screwing? Roman told himself that it was Letha. That he couldn’t believe that Peter could just forget about her like he was doing now. Like that asshole could dare to do anything with anyone that wasn’t her. It wasn’t about him. It was about Letha. It wasn’t about how Roman preferred blondes because he hated how much he loved blue eyed brunettes and how he didn’t have this kind of preference before. It wasn’t about how he’d think of someone who was completely innocuous; blonde women with big tits when he jerked off trying to ignore the hunger. Because that’s what they were; blonde women, not brunettes who had small enough breasts to pass for male.  How could he do this to him? How the fuck could he do this?

 

                Roman didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there watching him like a fucking creep, but he was pulled from his thoughts by a woman standing at the tinted glass of his front window passenger side window. He rolled it down as she bent forward, leaning against the edge of the window.

“My favorite customer,” she said with a coy smile. She was blonde, big tits, great ass. Clean as far as he knew but maybe a little too thin. Like maybe she was really struggling to make ends meet and food was scarce. He felt bad for her, he really did, even though he wanted to act like he didn’t care. But she wasn’t who he wanted.

“Is he working?” Roman said, gesturing towards his former friend who was now alone after the other woman had left, and this had somehow escaped his realization. He didn’t even know how long she’d been gone. He watched the woman frown, ruby lips that usually sparked his interest pulled down and sparking nothing but annoyance and a mild pity.

“Yeah…” She sighed, glancing behind her for a moment before turning back to him. “Look this ain’t because I need the money but that kid is miserable. He probably needs the money and all but its super depressing. Besides, I thought you didn’t fly that way?”

“That piece of shit deserves it,” Roman snapped, anger welling up in him far quicker than he was comfortable with. “Tell him to get over here and get the fuck out of my sight.”

 

                The frown she held turned to an annoyed grimace, and sadness was replaced with anger. She still did what he asked, walking harder than she had been and making the click of her heels on the asphalt echo in his mind like the hundreds of thoughts he couldn’t seem to get out of his head. He couldn’t hear her past the sounds of the city and the wind that brought the coming winter’s chill with it, but he had a good idea of what was taking place. She spoke to him with her brow creased in concern and she saw his name on her lips, something he would have enjoyed any other time. He looked visibly irritated and Roman could see that for a moment he hesitated before heading over.

 

                Peter didn’t meet him like the woman who’s name frequently escaped him did. It was with malice and perhaps fear.

“The fuck do you want?” he asked, the accusatory tone in his voice not lost on him.

“Get in the car.”

“Seriously?” Again, the tone of annoyance was not lost on him.

“Did I stutter? I said get in the fucking car.”

 

                This did not earn a response, and Peter did as he was told, out of fear more than anything else. He may have been away from Roman for some time, but that tone of voice and the look in his eye made Peter unsure of what he might do if he didn’t get in. But after Roman pulled off, he was beginning to feel a little stupid for getting into the car. He would have been safer outside.

 

                Hurting Peter was not in Roman’s forethought, though. In fact, nothing was. Going down the street he wasn’t entirely sure what the hell he was even doing. It was like instinct, and he knew he had to get him in his car, he just didn’t know why. What the fuck was he going to do with him?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he finally asked.

“Working…” Peter mumbled. “That’s what I was trying to do, anyway.” Suddenly talking to Roman, feeling trapped here in his car, started making him more confrontational than he should be. Though neither of them could truly know it at this point, they were very much alike. Not completely unlike Roman, Peter also had trouble controlling his more bestial nature since he had given up his human face.

 

Like a monster under his skin that whispered into the core of his being and gave him a tendency to very suddenly fly off the handle. When the wolf was caged deep within him, slumbering until the next moon, he didn’t quite have these problems. But it was in him now, all the time. He was less human than he had been before and now the brain of an animal shared half of his own headspace. It reacted quicker and more violently to situations that probably didn’t call for violence, or mouthing off to the one person who could probably snap his neck in an instant right now if he wanted to.

“Are you so goddamn sadistic that not helping me out isn’t enough for you? You have to take me away from the one thing that might help me get Lynda free?”

“Shut up,” Roman said, aggressively but with an even volume that made him sound far more in control than it would had he shouted. “Why would anyone want you? You look like you don’t have shit going for you. It’s pathetic.”

“Guess I’m just a popular guy,” Peter said, though in reality this wasn’t entirely a lie. He was popular for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t get picked up for his looks as much as his reputation. For people who thought he was somehow exotic because of his heritage. For people who remembered his reputation of being a murderer before Christina was finally caught. Some people still thought he did it, some people just didn’t care. It was fun to them. It was fun to pay him so they could punch him in the face. It was fun to demean him by making him literally sink to his knees for their forgiveness. But of course they didn’t forgive, and truly there was nothing to be forgiven for. But making him their toy for a while was enough to satisfy their need to hurt him any way that wouldn’t kill him or get him permanently injured.

 

                So that was his hook; that’s what drew people in. He would have dressed more normal if it wouldn’t mean that people might just think he was loitering. So he’d wait for whoever wanted to ruin his day and do what they asked, with the exception of actually fucking him. It was miserable, and the only thing that kept the wolf at bay was thinking about Lynda, because as pissed off as this could make him, family was more important than dignity.

 

                This effectively seemed to shut Roman up, but in reality the silence was due to the fact that he still didn’t know what he was going to do with Peter. He was both terrified and enraged, his mind a storm of indecisiveness because no true course of action was presenting itself to him. Every word in his mind was incomprehensible, jumbled together in confusion. The feeling of jealousy seemed to be ever present; jealousy and an enraged disbelief. But what exactly would be making him jealous? And the ever present thought was how he could dare to do this. Denial was still ever present in his psyche but with Peter sitting right next to him denial was becoming far less believable than the truth.

 

                In Peter’s time away, Roman was faced with the feeling of remorse and hatred. With the memory of him and how he would avoid anything that reminded him. Because with him gone, suddenly the prospect of blue-eyed brunettes with slender hips and small breasts became far more attractive to him. Anger turned into attraction, attraction turned into longing. It’s why he chased away everything that reminded him of his former friend. It’s why when he was alone in his room in the silence of the night his thoughts would turn from beautiful women to that which he tried to avoid. As much as he tried to forget the memory he couldn’t deny the fact that occasionally it wouldn’t be a woman, it would be him. Worming his way into his thoughts in the throes of pleasure and making getting off a lot more awkward after it happened.

 

                When he came back it was worse, worse in the way that his denial only grew stronger. He went out of his way to avoid anything that was like him, but sometimes he’d falter and find himself with the kind of woman he seemed to be magnetized back to. After some point typical sex did not thrill him as much as it should, with hunger a far more pertinent need. He turned to the motel he usually avoided that had women who specialized in more than just handjobs, blowjobs and fucking. It was a small Asian woman who introduced him to pegging in his more desperate moments, and taught him secrets about himself he didn’t know. But could he truly deny it to say that he didn’t think of those women he tried to avoid? That he didn’t once think of Peter and perhaps groan out, incomprehensible, his name during climax. He’d paid her hastily and left, trying to forget it had happened. He was convinced for some time he had imagined it even when his brain told him incessantly that it had. But he still used these secrets she’d taught him with himself, and he had gotten quite good at it. In these times he imagined the opposite of the one he knew he truly desired to share a bed with. But fuck Peter… _Fuck_ Peter.

 

                The opportunity was laid before him now, because he had more than enough money to help him and he knew how much Peter needed it. It made him feel sick to his stomach but at the same time excited. It was almost revenge. Peter as much as hated him and Roman was quite sure he felt just the same. To do this felt like a way he could truly hurt him. He wanted him to hurt; he wanted him to suffer and know that it had come to this, because he had ever dared to leave. He had dared to find someone but him and become the town bike in desperation. If he would not have left, this wouldn’t have happened. Even though he knew the reason he could not help but blame and resent him for the torment he had endured without him. He needed to pay, and if Roman had to do so literally to make him he would.

 

                It wasn’t physical revenge so much as disfigurement, but he knew Peter would deny him at first. He knew he’d deny him until the prospect of money was too great and he’d do anything for him. So he wouldn’t hurt Peter; no, he’d do quite the opposite. He was confident that he could probably blow his mind, but the fact that it was with someone he truly disliked at the moment would probably tear him up inside. It was a subtle kind of revenge and even though Roman wanted to make him feel what he’d felt for all these months, he wouldn’t stoop that low.

 

                He was going to use him because that’s what he was. No better than a whore who didn’t know how to stick around. He’d use him and leave him, and he could remember this final parting on terms he’d at least enjoy. His one pass into the homoerotic, because Roman didn’t like guys, he just liked Peter. He was girly enough if he really squinted and a hole was a hole. Because there was no way he was giving Peter any kind of control. He would not show his vulnerability to him, not after he had caused him to be so vulnerable for some time after what he’d done.

 

“Can you just drop me off close to where I was so I don’t have to walk a mile back?”

“No,” Roman said, coldly but almost caught unaware as his thoughts and plans were interrupted by sudden speech.

“Where the hell are you taking me then?”

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed, but Roman kept it uncomfortable for a reason. He wanted him in the dark about this until he got back to the motel. Peter made no retort towards this silence, but it was because of an acceptance that anything he said would be met with this kind of reaction. It was probably best he keep quiet and let Roman do whatever it was he thought he was doing. He just really prayed that his plan wasn’t to take him to the woods and put him down like a dog in some cruel, twisted sense of irony. He didn’t think Roman was capable of murder but sometimes Peter thought he never really knew him at all. He remembered how cold he could be and wondered just how cold he could really get.

 

The silence continued, deafening and tense, until Roman finally pulled into the motel parking lot. Peter remained silent, but it was clear by looking at him that he was pissed off. Because it wasn’t like people hadn’t brought him here before.

 

“I know you know what this place is for,” Peter finally said, his tone low and annoyed.

“I know exactly what it’s for. Get out.” Roman said, gesturing towards the door. After he’d left Roman did the same, shutting the door behind him with enough force that the sound echoed like a distant gunshot through the parking lot.

“What do you want from me? You want me to suck you off or something so you’ll forgive me? I don’t need your forgiveness.”

“You talk too damn much,” Roman said, taking long strides towards the door and unlocking it, gesturing for him to enter. “I’m not saying shit to you out here. So unless you just want to stand out here for hours, get in.”

 

                Peter was surprisingly obedient, as Roman found, heading inside with what was pure malice in his gaze but he seemed to know he shouldn’t cross him. Roman would liken it to a dog, if the comparison wasn’t too obvious. He certainly wasn’t as friendly as one. With the door shut, and Roman now facing him one on one he found it was a little harder to control his anger, and he felt anything he’d say to him might be scathing.

“I’m not going to forgive you; I’m just giving you a chance to do your fucking job. Honestly I’m not surprised to see you out there. I mean, it’s not unusual for you to just take the money and run, right? Fucking whore…you’ve always been one.”

“Fuck you…” Peter said, though his words didn’t hold as much anger as it did shock and perhaps remorse. “I didn’t take shit from you, Roman. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have to. But you kind of helped force me into that corner, didn’t you?”

“You took more from me than money could amount to!” Roman shouted, barely giving him a chance to finish before he responded. “I probably would’ve just given it to you if you didn’t pull the shit you did! I needed you, Peter, and you just fucking left! You didn’t take one goddamn second to think about how you weren’t the only one affected by this shit. Maybe if you’d have been there I wouldn’t-… Fucking be what I am now,” Roman didn’t elaborate on what he meant, it wouldn’t change things anyway. He almost wished he wouldn’t have said it; let Peter in on the fact that he was no longer human, even if it was just a hint.

“And you think you can just come back here, like you did nothing, and just ask me for money? You think I was going to act like nothing had happened and you didn’t take off for a fucking year and just forget I ever existed? No, that’s bullshit. You fucked me, Peter. So now I’m going to return the favor. And I’m going to give you the money you need, but you’re going to have to do your damn job first.”

“No,” Peter said, his voice low and trembling slightly with suppressed anger.

“No? Well goddamn, guess you made all the money you needed spreading your legs to whatever asshole decides he’s gonna throw a twenty your way.”

“I don’t let people fuck me!” Peter retorted, “No one around here has the money for me to let them do that.”

“You think I don’t have the money?”

“I…” he started, his voice cracking somewhat. Not so much from sadness as it was that he was almost completely taken aback by the way these events seemed to be unfolding. “I need you to stop treating me like I’m a product. I’m a person.”

“Barely.”

 

                If Roman couldn’t kill him just by suggesting it, and if he didn’t really need the money, he’d punch him in the face for that comment and leave. Again he was faced with the thought that Roman could definitely kill him, even if he didn’t truly believe he would. Peter didn’t want to metaphorically bleed into these shark filled waters and tempt fate. He had to truly consider his options here. Was this really a good idea? Was it a good idea to pass up an opportunity to end this once and for all?

“How much would you pay me?” he asked, still trying to fight back the urge to hit him for being such an asshole.

“Whatever you need.”

 

                This was truly a golden opportunity. He had been through so much worse, but Roman was asking him to do something he refused with most people. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, but it had been fairly painful and unpleasant, not to mention the fact that it made him feel vulnerable. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable, just like he didn’t like being caged. It was nearly the same as backing him into a corner, which was probably the worst thing you could do to someone who’s thought process was shared with a wild animal. He had always shared similarities with his other self before but with it being closer, he didn’t like to tempt it.

                But of course what he was doing now was putting him in some kind of vulnerability. He felt like he could intercept the blows, or at the most take them, but for something to be _inside_ of him… it was worse. It was something that he couldn’t fight or shrug off as easily. If someone hit him they hit him, and it was done with quickly. He didn’t think he could handle being fucked and hit at the same time and he wasn’t so sure that Roman wouldn’t do that. It was one thing to take beatings and remember that he was doing it for Lynda but it was another to try to endure it and then unintentionally break 40% of his bones mid-coitus and bite Roman’s face off.  Even if it wasn’t just for Roman’s safety, he knew not to push himself too far and away from his own humanity. Destiny had already warned him about this and as much as he liked to tell her he was fine, it did worry him.

 

But of course, Roman was part of the problem as it was. His feelings for the man were complicated. Not in the way that a high school girl isn’t sure if she does or doesn’t like a guy, but more in the way that if he didn’t continue hating Roman, he would feel horrible. Truthfully, Peter didn’t hate Roman. He didn’t start out hating him at least. Not completely unlike Roman, although he didn’t know it, Peter had developed a defense mechanism against his own heart in relation to a man he once called friend. No matter how many times Peter could apologize or explain it to him, in reality he had truly been selfish. He would deny it to himself of course, that he had run from the responsibilities of his former life. That continuing on and remembering Letha, wallowing in self-pity would slowly destroy him and his only option was to forget about what he once had. To start over, to live his life anew.

 

But to Peter that wasn’t entirely unusual. He had moved more times than he could count in his nineteen years of life because that’s just how it was. But that was not how Roman was, and the realization of this had come to him months after leaving. He had betrayed his trust and abandoned him in a time when he would probably come to him, because who else would he come to? Certainly not his mother, and with his sister missing and Letha dead, Roman was truly alone. Peter had left him with no one to turn to in his escape from everything that reminded him of Letha, Roman included.

 

To escape his own guilt he tricked himself into thinking that whatever they had was bad for the both of them as it was. Being friends with someone like that would have ended poorly as it was. Roman was too dependent on him and it had been clear with his backlash after Peter had politely told him to leave him alone. He was unstable, not to mention an upir, and Peter should have learned his lesson about staying away from upirs a long time ago. Werewolves could not be friends with anything of the vampiric persuasion. It was in every piece of literature that ever contained those two subjects. Even fiction, the belief had to have come from somewhere. It was because it was true, and Nicolae had warned him to stay away from those wicked beasts when he was just a child. His own dealings with them before had shown him that they were sadistic and cruel.

 

Roman was no different, and it had become clear to him that leaving him was for the better. So he remembered just how cold Roman could be. How unhinged, unstable, and aggressive he could get. For some time he had doubts that he’d painted some picture of him that wasn’t true. Meeting him again that year later had nearly cemented this belief but even with these thoughts that Peter had surrounded himself with he could see Roman was a shell of his former self. Like all the light he once may have had was now gone. It was in his best interest to stay angry at him so that he didn’t drown in guilt and regret.

 

 

Letting someone like that back into his life was dangerous for himself. It was dangerous for his psyche to hear just how much he’d hurt Roman. Peter’s instinct in these situations was to run, but running right now wasn’t an option. He could only run for so long and eventually he would have to face his demons. He decided maybe it was best to let Roman do whatever he wanted so he could distance himself again and forget this ever happened. He almost wished that Roman would be cruel to him so it could cement the picture he’d painted to the forefront of his mind.

 

“Fine…just-,” Peter hesitated for a moment, bringing his fingers to the first button in his shirt in preparation to undo it. “Don’t hit me.”

 

                Before he could undress Roman stopped him, grabbing his hand and pulling it away. “Don’t,” he said, intent on stripping him himself. “Why would I hit you?”

“Forget it…just don’t do it.”

 

                As much as Roman had started this with the intention of fucking with Peter, he was starting to feel more and more guilty by the minute. The fact that Peter had to tell him not to hit him was worrisome. It meant that it was something that happened often and he couldn’t really say he was surprised.  As angry as he’d ever been at Peter, the thought of truly fighting him had never once come up, surprising as that may be. He admitted he’d wanted him to suffer but now the realization that he’d put him on the streets to be tormented was starting to weigh heavy on his soul. Maybe Roman had already gotten his revenge, if however indirect it may have been. Was it truly wise to try to get revenge, though? It was petty, and it was stupid. Roman hadn’t had an interest in doing this until he’d seen him on the street though. That was, perhaps, the wrong way to go about things. In any normal person, he should have felt pity, but it was more than just pity that he felt.

 

                He kept the fact that he was guilty to himself though and advanced towards him until he was able to shove him back onto the bed. The stiffness in his movements was not lost on him; perhaps fear or confusion. He said nothing but Roman didn’t give him the chance to, crawling over him and gripping his chin so that he could meet him for a tentative kiss. It was weird at first. Roman didn’t kiss boys and especially not ones with facial hair; he needed to ease himself into this. Peter seemed nearly as confused as he did and was slow to respond, but he eventually felt hands come to meet his chest, spreading out to push the coat from him where it fell to a heap on the floor.

 

                It felt like this continued for more than it did, and though he was gentle, Peter’s breathing picked up slightly from what he could tell and his fingers twisted in the cloth of his shirt over his chest. It was possible he’d been misreading his signals the entire time because he suddenly, very roughly pushed against his chest until Roman was forced to move. He hovered above him for a moment and saw not lust in his eyes but fear; not unlike a cornered animal.

“Get off,” he breathed, “Please…”

 

                Roman thought that something like this might happen, just not in the way it was happening and the reasoning. He really had no idea why Peter was reacting the way he was but he gave him his space and sat next to him giving Peter the chance to very quickly sit up.

“Sorry,” he said, looking a little frazzled. “People don’t kiss me, and they don’t get on top of me. And you did both. It’s fucking weird, I just-…can you work with me? Please?” Peter felt a little pathetic given the fact that he’d been raising money lately by blowing people. Yet here he was, with alarm bells going off in his head by the prospect of being kissed and trapped beneath someone. He should have just dealt with it, but everything was telling him he needed this to stop and if he hadn’t he wasn’t sure what would have happened.

“Do you want me to not kiss you?” Roman asked, and there was annoyance in his tone but it was overlaying another of general concern.

“Do you want to?” 

“Sort of…”

“Do you kiss the other…girls?” Peter asked, not really wanting to call them prostitutes and liken them to their profession rather than their own identity. He knew how it felt.

“Sometimes but the other girls are _girls_. This is weird for me too.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I-…I need to, alright? This is fucking pathetic. You’re like some kind of sad skinny puppy begging in the streets for food and its gross, and like I said I want to return the favor.” This was mostly an excuse if not somewhat true. He wasn’t about to tell Peter he was just revenge fucking him or tell him about the numerous sexual hangups he’d had since he’d been gone. Roman really did feel bad for him as much as he hated it.

“Roman… if you don’t stop calling me a dog I’m going to show you a fucking dog. I’ll do this… just let me do it at my pace or one of us is going to end up hurt in more ways than one and I don’t know which one of us that will be.”

“Fine,” Roman said, his tone short and biting on the edges.

 

                Peter could barely suppress the glare he gave him before pulling himself together again and getting back to this bullshit he was supposed to be doing. He swung his legs on either side of Roman’s hips to sit against his thighs, placing his hand on the back of Roman’s neck and trying to start a more comfortable rhythm of kissing him again. It wasn’t as bad when he was in control. He was almost kind of feminine by feel alone, and women were usually less aggressive to him than men. It gave him a small sense of comfort even knowing full well what Roman was, gender and otherwise. He was glad he was kind of girly because every so often he’d taste blood and whiskey on him and that was unsettling to say the least.

 

                Despite the fact that Roman had been so adamant in his own fantasies to not relinquish any sort of control to Peter, he was finding it easier than before for him to take the lead. He seemed more relaxed and it was catching. Roman temporarily forgot about just what he was here for and his body took over, his hands finding their way through Peter’s hair. His fingers caught in numerous tangles because Peter had more split ends than he could believe but it didn’t seem to dissuade the wolf on his lap from kissing him.

 

                If anything it seemed to spur him on, making him more insistent. He shifted his hips slightly and Roman found his other hand settling on the small of his back, dragging him closer so that they were chest to chest. It was at first startling to feel something with far more mass between his legs, pushing now against Roman’s stomach. It reminded him just how foreign of a situation this was to him; Peter was definitely not a woman. He couldn’t deny the sharp jolt of lust that arrowed to his groin with the knowledge that he had some part in this.

 

                Peter suddenly pulled away to breathe and he could hear and feel the laboring of his breath as his chest moved against him. The blue in his eyes was nearly swallowed by black and his hair was mussed from what Roman had done to it. He looked wild and he almost felt like he could see glimmers of gold looking back at him. There was a very still silence between them that seemed to last for an eternity. An unspoken bond of something neither of them was sure of. An energy that felt like it had silently resided within the both of them that was now bursting and intertwining like it was supposed to be like this all along.

 

                Wordlessly Roman surged forward to kiss him again and missed, catching him along the edge of his mouth. He ran with it and fastened his lips on his jaw and kissed down until he was on his neck. He felt Peter expose his neck and shift his hips against his stomach, using the friction to pleasure himself in what was probably a bodily reaction. A low murmuring groan rumbled through his throat and against Roman’s lips that he met with a groan of his own. He found a strange kind of solace in this area and sucked marks into his skin and bathed his pulse point with his tongue. He was vaguely aware of the pulsing in his ears; the sound of rushing blood that got louder and louder and the edges of his vision darkened before he knew what was happening.

 

 

                The next thing he registered was a very sharp sensation behind his ear. He found himself suddenly kneeling above Peter as he lay on his back looking both terrified and angry. He felt deep scratch marks down his neck and back with teeth marks higher up. It took him a moment to realize what was truly happening, though. It was like his brain wasn’t working at full percentage and he realized suddenly he had lost a good chunk of time, like he was just waking up. But there was blood in his mouth and a very shredded chunk of flesh on Peter’s neck.

 

                He felt a cold chill of panic run up his spine and for a good moment his brain simply stopped working. He apparently forgot how to swallow because he was aware of the blood dripping down his chin and the soft pitter patter of liquid falling against cloth. In his attempt to leave he was suddenly stopped as Peter regained his sitting position and grabbed his arm.

“You could have at least warned me,” he said, and Roman couldn’t understand how he was being so calm about this.

“I didn’t know!” Roman shouted in response, his voice breaking from the strain. It was embarrassing. He had come here with the intention of being cold and stoic; to show no emotion other than malice in the face of his enemy…his friend. He was failing and had been for some time and he should have known it would happen. That if he spent any more than five minutes with Peter he’d probably beg for him to come back. This was a mistake…

“This was a stupid fucking mistake…” Roman breathed, running a hand downward over his face to avoid spreading blood anywhere else. “I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

 

 

                This would have been the perfect time for Peter to call this off and a saner person would have. Peter didn’t consider himself insane per se, but the idea his own mind was proposing might have been. In truth he didn’t want it to stop. He’d been enjoying himself up until this point and despite the fact that he now had a set of teeth marks in his neck that had narrowly avoided shredding his jugular to pieces, he was still painfully aroused. This was a rare opportunity for him.

 

                Peter hadn’t been with anyone who showed him the kindness Roman was now in nearly a year. Not since Letha…Every person he’d been with was just for money and none of them did anything for him but hurt him or at the very least pay him for his services without hitting him. Perhaps the most erotic of all was the women who paid him to go down on them but it would never end with kissing or them touching him. He didn’t realize just how much he craved that. He wanted to be touched in ways that weren’t painful. He wanted to be the other side of the party that could get off tonight instead of just one. He really wanted this, even if he was bleeding.

 

                But the bleeding had certainly thrown a wrench into their plans, and Peter was probably going to have to do more than just gentle coaxing to get Roman back into bed. He had an understanding of what had just taken place; Roman was very nearly starving. Of course he’d always known he was upir but he didn’t know if he’d ever truly fed before them, or some cosmic change had taken place and opened up to his true nature. It explained the taste of blood and whiskey he’d tasted earlier and he could only hope that whatever blood it was wasn’t completely human.

 

                He had the inclination that he could control his feeding if he really needed to. He could let him feed without being killed, at least he hoped. He ran his hand over the wound and drew it back with a sticky slickness that was grosser to him than it was painful. Of course he was no stranger to blood but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“It’s not that bad,”

“I could’ve killed you…I didn’t fucking come here to kill you. I should go,” he said, making the move to leave but Peter’s hand still clasped around his wrist.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t hurt me on purpose,” Peter said, his words almost desperate. “You’re the only one who’s touched me like this I-..I need this,” he stammered. “You can feed from me, I don’t care just… please don’t leave.”

“Are you begging?” Roman asked, a tone of snark and amusement cutting through an overlying one of concern and dismay.

“Fuck you,” Peter said, but his tone wasn’t serious in the least bit. As it left his lungs Roman felt his heart clench at the sound of it. It was casual and playful and something he didn’t know just how much he missed.

“Tell me you want this, tell me it’s okay.”

“It’s okay.” Peter assured, “Please.”

 

                Though he was still tense and worried Roman finally did relax and Peter took this a sign to press onward. He pulled Roman forward by his shirt and hastily undead the buttons with more dexterity than Roman had when he tried to do the same to Peter. He slipped the shirt from his shoulders by the time Roman was down to the fourth button. Frustration got the better of him and he yanked it open, reveling in the snap of thread and the sound of buttons clinking on the floor below. The shirt was already stained with blood, it was ruined long ago and he didn’t care how much of Peter’s clothes he had to fuck up to get to him.

 

                His shirt had been covering something Roman wished he hadn’t seen. He wished he wouldn’t have undressed him to see a patchwork of violet and chartreuse threaded together with healing scrapes and cuts, dotting his ribs and hips and wherever it seemed that someone could reach to get at him. There was a surge of determination in him that made him grip him by the hair and kiss him hard. It was horrible to see what they’d done to him and Roman could barely remember just why he hated Peter so much. There was another feeling far more pressing than hate.

 

                Peter didn’t seem to want to be kissed at the moment and took a fistful of Roman’s hair to pull him back. It made him groan in surprise and frustration until Peter guided his head to his neck. In an instant he latched onto the skin, fully aware this time of what he was doing at least for now. It was the first time he’d ever truly fed from human skin and remembered it. It was hot and pure and to him tasted like the sweetest ambrosia. There would be moments when he’d become so lost in his task that the edges of his vision would start to darken again, but Peter would bring him back by digging his nails into his back. The sharp pricking sensation would bring him back before he went too far and Peter seemed to know when he was in danger of that.

 

 

                He hooked his fingers at the edge of Roman’s shoulders and led him down so that he was lying on top of him again. The new position gave Roman more options but he would have to take it slow. He couldn’t betray his trust again after he’d just opened back up to him. He trailed his hands up his sides with feather light touches, ghosting along his ribs and taking more interest in the bones there than he thought he would have. It was something that somehow further cemented that this was real, and that prospect not only excited him but made him kind of nervous.

 

                He sat up suddenly, separating himself from him if only for a few minutes to sit between his legs and work at Peter’s belt, fumbling slightly to undo it and stopping only briefly to make sure he was okay with it. Without words he merely quirked a brow at him and earned a nod in response, finally undoing the belt and working on the rest of his pants. They were a little harder to work with than if he’d actually been wearing pants that fit him right. He managed to pull them off along with his boots but left him in his boxer-briefs for the time being.

 

 

                His breath caught briefly in his throat at the fact that he was faced again with Peter’s lack of feminine genitals, and even in his underwear it was clear. His erection strained against the navy cloth with more mass than he was used to with the typical woman.  Its presence for a moment made him confused, like it had changed the entire game now that he was faced with a very, very hard fact.

“Can you stop staring?” Peter asked suddenly, and Roman hadn’t been aware that he was but Peter had apparently noticed.

“Sorry, just…it’s really clear to me now that you have a dick.”

“Was this not something you were aware of?”

“Of course I was aware of it, I’ve seen you naked at least twice. I just don’t know what the fuck to do with it.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

 

                Sated as he might have been, the still leaking wound on Peter’s neck still called to him and he found himself kneeling over it again. He dipped his tongue into the mangled flesh there like a cat lapping at milk, feeling a lot of conflicting emotions with the noises Peter made as he did so. The slight hitches in his breath that was probably from pain but it sounded like something else. He sucked lightly at the wound for a moment before he decided that finally he might be able to move on. He hastily ran the back of his hand over his mouth before leaning forward to kiss him again.

 

                He was hesitant again at first and Roman was worried that he might be starting to close himself off again. He felt like he’d fucked up, like if he hadn’t spent so much time feeding from him he might be more inclined to return the kiss without having to be the one controlling the situation. His solution was to try to touch him so that maybe he would forget that he was feeling apprehensive. While one hand braced himself on the side of Peter’s shoulder the other lightly danced down his front. They shook slightly as he delved between his legs, dragging his hand from bottom to top.

 

                He could feel him tense up and briefly break away from the kiss, sucking in a shaking an audible breath as he repeated this process a few times. It was strange to him once again; a sense of familiarity but so very foreign. He of course knew how to touch himself but it was startlingly different on someone else. He registered the stark heat against his palm and how it was something he never really registered with himself. The lines between the feel of his own hand and his cock were always blurred; always one and the same. But he couldn’t feel what Peter felt, only what his own hand felt. That was heat and weight, and however different than he was used to it wasn’t all that unpleasant.

“Is that…bad?” Roman asked, not entirely sure how to ask him if what he was doing was what Peter wanted. Peter merely shook his head and let out a slightly strained breath, swallowing slightly as he pushed his hips into Roman’s hand. This made Roman instinctively grip him harder and he listened to him breathe out what was almost a moan. He could feel, the more he touched him, a growing dampness in the cloth beneath his fingertips. Maybe he wasn’t so different after all; he kind of got wet like a girl. Not like Roman hadn’t ever experienced something similar with himself but it was actually of greater volume.

 

                He closed in to kiss him again, breathing in his sighs as Roman stroked him below. It was difficult with the fact that he would sometimes arch back and he was merely hovering above his mouth. After a few moments of this he finally felt brave enough to touch him skin to skin. He gripped the band of his boxers and pulled them down far enough so that he could get his hands on him. He tentatively wrapped his hand around the shaft and found it much hotter than on the outside, and the faint feeling of his pulse was present against his skin. He ran his thumb beneath the glans, gathering the fluid there and finding a strange comfort in its slickness. He always liked getting girls wet and with Peter it was no different, except for the fact that the function was different.  

 

 

                Peter took in a sharp gasp and suddenly reached down to grab his wrist, urging his hand away and Roman wasn’t quite sure what exactly he was getting at. He stopped though, sitting up again to watch as he laid there, legs drawn up slightly as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked focused or in some sort of distress. While Roman couldn’t exactly take the initiative to figure it out the reasoning was that Peter hadn’t had any actual sex in a long time and Roman was working him up far too fast. He wouldn’t last like this. So he tried to will away any impending orgasm that may have been creeping up on him; it wasn’t a may, it was a definite thing.

“Did I hurt you or something?” Roman asked, still confused as to just what was happening.

“No-no, you...you did the opposite,” he said, letting out a heavy breath. “I mean I like the attempt at foreplay, but if you keep touching me like this, I’m not going to last.”

“So you’re asking me to hurry it up?”

“No just… stop doing what you’re doing for a minute.”

 

                Again with things being so foreign, Roman wasn’t used to having to deal with this. Foreplay with women was definitely different. He didn’t have to worry about them coming too soon because he could do it more than once without a refractory period. Then again, he was almost certain he could get Peter to do the same with some light suggestive mind control.

“I could do it more than once,” Roman informed.

“What?”

“I mean I can make you come twice. At least.”

“You may be more confident in your ability then you actually are,” Peter said, and Roman shot him a glare that was probably not all that threatening.

“I can literally just suggest you come and you’ll do it. I’m not an idiot, I’ve been controlling people’s minds since I was a kid.”

 

                Peter wasn’t sure how he had forgotten about Roman’s freakish ability to make people do whatever he wanted by the power of mere suggestion, but he wasn’t sure how well it would work.

“If it happens I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good,” Roman said, using this new development to become bound and determined to do just what Peter said he couldn’t do; make him come twice. He would do as he asked but he definitely couldn’t promise him anything. His hands crept along Peter’s hips until they grasped at the waistband of his underwear so that he could pull them off the rest of the way. He obliged by lifting his hips as he pulled them off.

 

                Roman felt a jolt of arousal as he was finally able to take him in, but also one of fear and adoration. He felt like his heart skipped a beat and the first thing that came to his mind was ‘beautiful’. He was so different from anything he was used to. Peter’s body was at least somewhat familiar to him but he saw it now in a different light; in different circumstances. He was slightly flushed and very clearly aroused. Roman felt some kind of vindictiveness for being the cause of it, for all the fighting Peter did with him earlier and now he was practically at his mercy. It reminded him, if for only a moment, what he was truly doing there in the first place.

 

 

                It dawned on Roman that screwing with, and screwing Peter had not had originally been his plan. He’d come armed with simply a condom. He had no lube to speak of except for what was already on the condom. The only thing he had was saliva and he assumed he’d need a lot of it.  He placed his hands on the underside of Peter’s upper thighs and urged him backwards until he was sitting against the headboard. He placed his hands on either thigh with the intent of spreading his legs but Peter stopped him, reaching down to grab one of his wrists.

“I don’t want you doing shit to me until you take your pants off.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I feel fucking ridiculous. Take your pants off.”

 

                He attempted to do what he was asked but Peter changed his mind again, grabbing his hands away from his belt and then using the waistband of his pants to pull him forward. It was sort of an awkward position, with Peter half laying there and Roman kneeling in front of him the best he could. He didn’t bother to ask him why he’d suddenly felt the need to do it himself but he couldn’t help but find it arousing to watch him do it.

“Why are you doing this?” Roman finally asked as he unbuckled his belt.

“Trying to get you your money’s worth,” Peter said, unzipping the front of his pants.

“Are you trying to get a tip?”

“It’s the only thing I’m good at, and maybe if you’re closer, I won’t have to fight so hard not to be.”

“Peter…-“ Roman said, cut off as his pants were pushed down.

“Fuck…” Peter breathed out, “I was kind of hoping it wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Uh… be this big.”

                Roman let out a nervous laugh and mumbled out an apology, because it wasn’t quite sure if he should be insulted or take it as a compliment. He felt a tingle run up his spine when he felt his fingers run along his hips, and he found it strange because ‘what he was good at’ probably wasn’t what he was doing.

 

                The truth of the matter was that even if he was getting paid for this, Peter wanted to touch him. He wanted to get his hands on his skin and experience something he never truly admitted he’d wanted. But God he wanted it, but why? Was it because it was the only person who wasn’t trying to actively hurting him? Was it the familiarity of knowing the person he was with, even knowing that he was someone who could be incredibly unstable. Or was it because it was with Roman? What if it had truly always been there?

 

                But here he was, reveling over the smooth touch of his skin on his fingertips and the heat of it radiating to his own. His fingertips glided along his hips and to the small of his back. He listened to the sharp intake of breath when he pulled him forward. One of his hands circled around him to grip at his cock and he breathed against his skin as he ran his tongue along the underside of his cock before taking him in with ease.

 

                It was a skill that Roman hadn’t anticipated him having, although he should have known given the fact that he didn’t get fucked and he was certainly making money somehow.

“Fucking-shit...” he breathed out. There weren’t a lot of prostitutes who were able to do that so easily. A few, but not all. “You pick all this up working?”  Peter drew back to answer him, and a jolt of lust shot through his groin at the vision of him staring up at him. “No,” he said, and went to return to what he was doing but Roman stopped him by gripping him by the hair.

“No?”

“No,” Peter responded.

“So you were with guys before this?” He wasn’t sure why this should surprise him.

“Yes. None of them talked as much as you do though.”

“Shut up,” Roman said, gripping him by the hair and pulling him forward. “Your mouth’s better for other things.”

 

                Peter merely hummed around his cock as some sort of half assed answer, but it sent pleasure straight to his bones and he choked back a moan as he pushed himself further in than seemed possible. He was at the back of his throat and he merely felt him swallow around him.

“Do you not have a fucking gag reflex?” he breathed out. He hummed against him again Roman decided that this was enough. As good as it felt he didn’t want to come in his mouth. With a rough groan he yanked his head away by his hair, and he felt the warning scrape of his teeth against him.

“That’s enough,” Roman said, shoving him back slightly and disrobing the rest of the way. He slid hands beneath Peter’s thighs to push him back against the headboard and knelt down as far as he could, sucking marks into the skin of them before finally deciding that this was as good a time as ever to learn how to eat ass. But he’d always been good with his tongue when it concerned women so he hoped he could replicate this here.

 

                The moment Roman ran his tongue along the opening he heard him draw in a breath of surprise. “Could you have at least fucking warned me?”

“I didn’t go out looking for hookers with the idea that I might need lube, the fuck did you think I was going to do? Is it really that bad?” Roman asked, sitting up briefly enough to talk to him.

“It’s not bad it’s just… It feels kind of weird… and wet.”

 

                This change began to make Peter nervous again, because he somehow felt he had some semblance of control before. He still had some now, he supposed, but this was something no one had ever done to him before. He came in knowing what it was like to get fucked and that it was something he didn’t particularly enjoy but this was completely new territory. He found himself staring at the ceiling for a good few moments, counting his own breaths in an attempt to ease some anxiety. At first he felt like this was what it must be like to be a girl in a gynecology exam. Once he calmed down some he realized that it was actually quite pleasant. Any of the other men who’d taken him in the past had never really been concerned with his pleasure, and he wasn’t sure that Roman was either but at least he was being gentle and considerate.

 

                The moment he felt he’d finally relaxed, everything reset when Roman finally attempted to get a finger into him. He succeeded but not without him tensing up around him multiple times. Once he’d gotten far enough in, he abandoned his quest of tongue fucking him and sat up. His entire body seemed to jerk in surprise when Roman ran his free hand along his inner thigh in what seemed to be an attempt to comfort him but the sudden touch only startled him.

“Have you done this before?” Roman asked. “I mean… with other people, before you ...” Roman seemed hesitant to use the word ‘whore’ or ‘prostitute’, which was relieving to him that he’d abandoned using the word around him because it made him feel like shit.

“Yes,” he said, the word short and sharp as it left his tongue.

“Then why are you so nervous?”

“Because it hurts usually and I-…I don’t like feeling vulnerable and hurt. Because I’m letting you into me and giving up control and it makes me really…” He cut off for a moment, unsure if he should continue. But it almost made him less nervous to explain to him why he felt this way. “Nothing is the same since I lost my face,” he said, his voice a little strained and stuttered. He was anxious and it showed in the way he spoke, and telling Roman his life story while he was trying to prep him for sex was pretty awkward and that didn’t make things easier.

“With other people, I’ve still got control, it hurts but I have control. I can fight them off if I need to but not with what you’re doing. So I’m completely fucking vulnerable and the wolf doesn’t like that.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Roman assured. “Or I’ll at least try not to. But I won’t hurt you on purpose.”

“If you hurt me I’m not sure what I’ll do to you. I don’t know if I can stop myself. So then what happens when the last person who’s seen with you becomes a murder suspect again because the fucking mogul of a huge company is found dead with his face ripped off.”

“You’re not going to kill me that easy,” Roman assured, cocky in the way he spoke.

“Have _you_ done this?”  Peter asked, using the sound of his own voice now to take his mind off things.

“Not with other people. I only know how to do it with myself but at least I know something. But I know how to do it without it hurting too much. They always hurt you when they did it?”

“It was just really unpleasant. The only way I could get off was to jerk off.”

 

                Roman was silent for a moment, but it seemed to be because he was very focused. He looked mildly perplexed. It was then that he realized that he hadn’t been actively prepping him as most had tried before, but merely fondling the upper half of his insides.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Peter asked.

“No. You’re just different.”

“Different how?”

“Your body is different. I can’t… find what I’m looking for because it’s not in the same place.”

 

                It had been his intention to respond, but whatever it was fled from his mind in moments. It probably had something to do with no one ever successfully finding his prostate, as no one had ever really truly looked, but Roman seemed to defy the odds because he pressed hard against something within him that was fucking magical. It took his breath away and when he finally did breathe it was a sharp inward gasp. He merely found it in passing though and Peter would beg for him to find it again. With a few more passes in the area he seemed to actually be able to locate it and bore his finger against it. It felt like his entire body seized up as a bolt of pleasure seemed to shoot up his spine, straight to his brain and radiating outwards through his groin.

 

                He arched his hips from the bed with an almost pathetic sounding, quite frankly embarrassing mewling sound at the contact. Even after he’d stopped Peter still struggled to breathe, his heart pounding wildly beneath his ribs. It took him a moment to realize that Roman had not only stopped but was staring him down with an intensity that was nearly frightening. He looked captivated.

“No one’s touched you here?” Roman asked, but there was some sort of pride lurking behind his words. They were deep and husky, laced and dripping with arousal.

“No one ever tried to,” Peter said, finding every word a struggle because his lungs seemed to forget how to breathe.

“You have some very inconsiderate lovers,” Roman said with that same vague pride in his voice.

“So does that make you a lover?” Peter asked, and he knew seconds after he’d said it that it was a mistake. He watched the façade fall for a moment as Roman calculated exactly what he’d said. There was a very brief moment of vulnerability and terror. He’d seen Roman vulnerable before but this was something different. Something that he wasn’t meant to see. It was gone in an instant and Roman stared him down with a challenging gaze that hid tendrils of malice beneath the bright green of his eyes.

“It makes me a client,” he said, punctuating the statement by pushing against his prostate again with intent. It made him moan in a way that was almost mournful, breathless and wavering. But where Roman had only given him brief contact, this time he didn’t stop. He pulled back, easing a second finger in that he only found briefly painful before he slid against his prostate again. It became more deliberate; less of prepping him and more of actively fingering him. He’d switched his game; he wasn’t focused now on the thought of fucking him but holding true to his word of making him come twice.

 

                He was already so close so fast that at this point he wouldn’t last long enough for Roman to fuck him more than a minute. He’d have to relent to whatever it was Roman thought he was going to do. If nothing else he at least could get off with sex that wasn’t inherently painful or degrading for once, at least once.

“Do you moan like this for everyone?” Roman asked, and Peter was reconsidering the ‘degrading’ part. He only shook his head, attempting to answer him only to have it devolve into some keening cry of pleasure.

“That’s what they all say,”

“I don’t!” Peter managed to say, though it was merely buried and warped with the way he moaned around the words. He wanted to say more; wanted to say that he didn’t give people the satisfaction to make much noise, but it’s not like he did much that really involved him having to fake moaning anyway.

“Good,” Roman said, his tone dark and commanding. It would be a little frightening if he wasn’t so lost already. “I’m going to make you howl.”

 

                He at least had the presence of mind to be annoyed that Roman definitely used that word in reference to dogs, which he’d told him not to do, but Roman would pass up no opportunity for light and playful degradation.

“Fuck you,” he said breathlessly, whining and whimpering around it.

“Soon,” Roman said. He could feel Roman’s other hand on his hip, tracing the bone lightly and briefly before suddenly gripping his cock. He shuddered visibly, a shaking moan spilling from his lips as his hips bucked violently into Roman’s palm of their own accord.

“Howl,” he said, the commanding tone in his voice plucking at bits in his brain he didn’t really know existed. That somewhere, deep in its recesses beneath everything that made him feel combative towards the gesture, was something else. Some part of him that secretly liked being told what to do like this. That maybe it was really goddamn hot that he was being commanded to come.

 

                While he would have liked to disobey Roman to spite him while keeping the knowledge of a hidden fetish to himself, his body had other plans.  He rolled his hips against Roman’s closed fist once or twice before he was spilling into his hand. He would not give him all of the satisfaction, because that combative part of him still was winning. He bit down on his lip, stifling himself as long as he could until he breathed out broken moans, strained and fought back because if he had just let himself go he may have done just as Roman had asked him. 

 

                He trembled slightly as his hips still worked him through a fairly continuous orgasm, the slick fluid spurting out with each movement. It felt like hours before his body stopped spasming and he felt sated, but Roman was a different story. Just by looking at him, he could that even if he couldn’t get hard again; he definitely wasn’t done with this ride.

“You’re really creeping me out,” Peter mumbled, already beginning to feel the sleepiness seep into his bones.

 

                Roman glanced way from him briefly enough to look down at his hand, briefly enamored by the pearlescent fluid sticking to his fingers. It connected to his fingers by tiny tendrils and was already beginning to feel uncomfortable. It was disgusting, and in some sick and twisted way, beautiful. Not so much beautiful as it was completely and utterly arousing. He wiped it unceremoniously on the side of the bed before it could get a chance to get too gross.

 

                His mind was still reeling and replaying everything that had just happened. He was taken aback, enamored, and more turned on than he could imagine. If they didn’t even end up having sex, this memory could serve as masturbatory aid for a lifetime. It caused a lump in his throat that was hard to swallow, at just how captured he was by the sheer force of pleasure he’d managed to create. It would’ve been different if this was just any other woman, though. It was special because it was Peter.

 

                He never really thought of doing this in particular. His mind was usually clouded with vague thoughts and women that looked like him. But he’d shown Peter something he’d never known and  blown his mind, and it was a completely new scenario to him. He looked better than any whore and the fact that the pleasure was genuine helped. He would live from those sighs of ecstasy if he could. He would love for those visions of him so blissed out that he had barely realized he’d managed to get three fingers into him and had been essentially spitting on him for a good few minutes.

 

                Inside, his brain was demanding he take him. He wanted him so fucking bad. He was beyond hard now, it was actually beginning to hurt. After he’d broken out of his stupor he crawled over him so that they were face to face. He gripped him tightly by the chin, making sure he was facing him.

“Get hard again,” he said, blood beginning to drip from his nose as he spoke. He quickly swiped it away, looking down to find that it had indeed worked but not without some unintended side effects. He seemed to be in pain, a rough groan pushing from his lungs as apparently getting hard that fast and that soon was not something his body was meant to do.

“Sorry…” he said, leaning forward to kiss him. He was hesitant at first but relented if only to kiss him for a few moments before Roman pulled away to grab his pants from the edge of his bed and pull a condom from his pocket. He tore it open with shaking fingers and attempted to slip it on. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was so incredibly aroused that he was too swollen to get it on right or that he was just too high on lust to function, but it took him longer than usual.

 

                Roman had the luxury here of the condom holding not mattering too much. Peter seemed clean, he was clean, and he didn’t have to worry about any surprise children. He was only really using it for the lube and hygiene’s sake. With that taken care of he leaned down to kiss him again, bearing a little bit more of his weight on him than he’d intended. He slipped one hand beneath his thigh and pushed it against his chest rather roughly. Roman was no longer driving on thought but on instinct. The only thing he knew is that he needed to fuck him here and now.

 

                He hadn’t even realized Peter had tried to push him off until he felt a sharp sting in his lip. He pulled back just in time to meet a sharp smack to the side of the face. He was angry for a split second before he remembered that Peter didn’t like to be overpowered. He still seemed aroused but also visibly shaken, and before he could respond Peter pushed him up roughly until he was sitting. Before he knew it he himself was on his back with Peter straddling his hips.

 

                He leaned against him heavily, and Roman found his hands on Peter’s hips, urging him back with desperation as he sunk down onto his cock. Or he at least tried, there was a lot of slipping involved before Roman finally got in. It was nearly the death of him, and he sucked in a deep breath and had to focus on not coming immediately.

“Stay still,” he panted out.

“You better not fucking come already after you just did this to me,” Peter warned, his head leaning against his collar bone. The position was awkward with the way Peter practically had to hold his lower half up while the rest of it rested against his chest.

“Trying not to,” Roman said, his voice slightly strained. “You’re really fucking tight.”

“Is this new for you?” Peter asked. There was apprehension in his tone and he seemed slightly frightened.

“Yes. I’ve never actually fucked anyone in the ass. I didn’t account for this.”

“So you don’t actually know what you’re doing.”

“It’s not fucking brain surgery, I’m sure I can figure it out,” Roman said in almost a growl, gripping Peter’s hips again and forcing him down slightly. It was still good; fucking fantastic actually, but he was used to it enough to not come right then and there like a school boy.

 

                He let out a shuddering, soft moan as finally sheathed himself all the way. He was being practically constricted by a tight heat, so fucking hot it was like a blowjob from Satan. He struggled to right his breathing but was finding it kind of difficult when Peter was lying on his chest. All he could do was wait and he busied himself by running his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“Are you okay?” Roman asked, not wanting to hurt him but he knew it was inevitable.

“I’m fine,” Peter said, his words short and irritated. “You’re fucking huge though.”

It made Roman laugh a little until Peter actually started moving at which point it quickly dissolved into some low and quiet groan. He righted himself into a less awkward position, leaning against Roman’s thighs and using his chest to brace off of. He shifted his hips again and forced Roman to jerk his own against him until he was able to build up a slow and steady rhythm.

 

                He kept it gentle at first, rounding one hand near the back of Peter’s hip, the other in his hair as he pulled him down to kiss him. He desperately wanted to move faster but the position and Peter’s numerous hang ups were preventing that. Even Peter seemed unsatisfied with this position; he could tell by the way he angled his hips he was trying to hit his prostate and failing. Every once and a while he would hear his hitched breaths and soft mewls and know he’d succeeded but it was so rare that most of the time he just seemed unhappy. Desperate to achieve something that was harder than it would be if he’d just lie on his back. Roman couldn’t reach it like this; maybe with someone else but not with Peter. His was slightly deeper and harder to find but he was confident he could if he could convince him onto his back.

 

                He gripped both of his hips to still him for a moment so he could speak. It was regrettable; he hadn’t realized how much he was enjoying it until he stopped.

“I could make this better for you if you’d just let me on top,”

Peter seemed to consider it for a moment; he was clearly not having it as it was now. 

“You’re not enjoying yourself. I’m sure I can come like this but it’ll just make me feel guilty later… Look, you freaked out on your back earlier, right?”

“Yes. You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

“But you stopped. You forgot you were scared. I’m sure there’s a lot of shit you didn’t notice. How many fingers do you think I got in you?”

“I don’t know…Two maybe?”

“Three; and you didn’t notice because you were that into it.”

“If I tell you to stop and you don’t, I’m going to punch you in the face, if I don’t kill you first.”

 

                Taking this as his cue that he could do as he liked he moved into a sitting position before pushing Peter onto his back, knowing it would have been easier to just roll him over but he wanted to at least be decent enough to give him a pillow. He was almost kneeling in front of him and guided Peter’s legs around his waist, to rest atop his thighs. He let his fingers card through Peter’s hair, kissing him gently at first until Peter started kissing back. It became more passionate the longer they kissed and for a moment he’d almost forgotten he was inside of him. How the hell was he still this hard?

“I won’t hurt you,” Roman said, breaking away again to speak. He shifted his hips, started again with short and simple thrusts in an upward motion. It took him a few tries before he finally got the reaction he was looking for. It was bizarre to him just how much pride he took, and just how hot he found it, when Peter let out a broken sounding cry, his hips tilting up to meet Roman’s thrusts almost instinctively.

 

                He surged forward to kiss him again and nearly missed; it was messy and he caught the edge of his chin for a moment but Peter didn’t seem to mind. He merely hovered there, barely on the edge of a kiss as he thrust into him with longer, harder thrusts that Peter seemed to enjoy more. They shared each other’s air, breathed in each other’s sighs and moans, which was one of the most erotic things for Roman at the moment. He felt Peter’s hands come to grip his shoulders, but this time it wasn’t to push him away, but to run his nails along his back. Fuck, that was really nice. He let out a startled groan and arched his back from the touch, slamming his pelvis against Peter’s and earning a surprised but pleasured yelp from him.

 

                Roman continued like this at least for now, while his stamina allowed it. It was doing things for Peter that he really enjoyed. He liked listening to him take those high pitched gasps, liked to hear the hitches in his breathing and the way that every time he exhaled, it was of an audible higher octave. He didn’t expect the set of teeth he suddenly felt along his earlobe and neck.

“Do you want me to stop?” Roman asked, breathing strained and panted out as he spoke.

“No!” was his response, desperate and nearly terrified at the prospect that Roman might actually stop.

                Knowing now that this wasn’t a sign to get him to let up, he was pleasantly surprised by the feeling. He almost missed it when Peter pursued his mouth instead. He drew him into a desperate kiss that used too many teeth and left imprints on his lower lip but he liked it. It was further than any other girl had gone with him. It was passionate yet violent, and when Peter’s nails dug into his skin again it only spurned him on further.

“Harder,” Peter suddenly breathed out. It was surprising, considering how Peter had been asking him to be gentle.

“You sure?”

“Yes-fuck, please-,” Roman barely gave him the chance to finish his sentence and he ended it with a broken shout. He silenced him with a rough kiss, his fingers running through Peter’s hair again before gripping a fist full of it and pulling. It was a mistake; or at least he thought it was. It was instinctual, he just wanted to pull his hair, but he knew Peter was probably going to be pretty pissed. Instead of being pissed he was apparently very pleased.

“Do that again,” he said, breathless and quick.

“You like that?” Roman asked, full of pride and maybe a tinge of aggression.

 

                Peter only nodded and let out a soft hum of a response, but the noises he made when he repeated the action were far louder and more pleasing to the ears. He yanked his head back by his hair and fastened his lips to his neck where he’d bitten him before. He kissed him there, and sucked so hard the wound broke open again just enough for him to get a taste. Goddamn, it was heavenly. It was yet another object of his desire, brought forth as his cock was buried deep inside someone he once considered a friend. Roman almost had to convince himself of that last part. Like maybe there was a second thought creeping along his brain that he had to shut out before it ever existed.

 

                He drew away and kissed him again, with the taste of blood still lingering in his mouth as he slipped his tongue inside and shared with him the flavor of it, however unintentional. The moment he drew his tongue back was the moment that Peter bit him again. Roman was still having doubts as to what this meant by the way Peter was rolling his hips to meet his thrusts. Maybe Peter was wilder than Roman had anticipated; maybe he was wilder than even Peter anticipated. Maybe once he was into it, he might like to be knocked around a little, but he wasn’t going to hit him unless he asked. But the truth of the matter was that Peter was wild. He shared the same space with something that had a natural aggressiveness and he couldn’t expect the two of them to not intertwine, especially given the information Peter had given earlier.

                It only seemed to turn him on more, and he could feel he’d probably be coming soon. He didn’t want to come first; he wanted to come with Peter. He wanted him to suck the orgasm right out of him with the contraction of his muscles as he came.

“You getting there?”

“Yeah,” Peter responded, the words warped by a whine that wrapped around them.  “Fuck, I’m so close…” he moaned, followed by something that almost sounded like pleading, but it was in Romanian. Roman didn’t have an accent kink. He didn’t cream himself every time someone was bilingual, but fuck if that wasn’t hot.

 

                He rolled his hips forward much sharper, aiming more directly for his prostate. The reaction was one that sent boiling hot arousal through his groin and he was struggling not to come from it already. He let out something akin to a growl, rough and through gritted teeth. It rumbled from his chest and wavered into a low whine near the end. It only made him fuck harder, begging for Peter to come soon so that he could too. He could now if he wanted but it wouldn’t be as good.

 

                Coming so close to his orgasm, his brain seemed to short circuit. He gave him a chaste kiss and panted into his mouth before speaking.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty,” he groaned out. It was a weird statement and not one he even gave the girls he was fucking. It was lost on Peter though; he was clearly unsure of how to respond but the second he thrust back into him it was like his brain reset anyway. Whatever he may have said was replaced with a string of curses both English and Romanian, he assumed. He came almost suddenly; Roman wasn’t expecting it but his orgasm ended up being explosive for the both of them. He arched up so that his hips were flush with Roman’s, cock straining against his stomach and the sensation of liquid splashing against his skin. The noises he made were both guttural and breathless. It was fucking intense, but the most intense part being how hard Peter was clenching around his cock.

 

                He only lasted for a few seconds more, struggling to thrust against the contraction of his muscles until he came and came hard.

“Fuck, I…” He cut himself off here, had the presence of mind to do so, because what he was about to say wasn’t something he ever should. There were about a hundred different things it could’ve been, but Roman couldn’t deny what it truly was; ‘Fuck, I love you.’.  But this was normal, wasn’t it? How many people said this during sex when they didn’t mean it? But the words kept buzzing in his head; I love you…I love you, fucking hell, I fucking love you.

 

                The minute he came down from his orgasm he felt terror, although there had been an inkling of it during. The only thing his mind could think as he looked down at him was ‘I love you’. This was a mistake. He couldn’t love him; he couldn’t fall for this again. He couldn’t let it blossom only to be snuffed out by something that would get in their way again. He couldn’t get hurt like this again. He had to forget; Peter had to forget.

 

                With hesitation in his heart he brushed the hair out of his face, running his thumb over Peter’s cheek and feeling his heart crack when he smiled back at him. He looked exhausted, sated, and truly happy. He couldn’t leave it like this…

“Peter… you’re gonna wake up tomorrow, and you’re not going to remember any of this.”

“Wait-, Roman, don’t-,” He was cut off when Roman hushed him, and it hurt even worse how distraught he looked.

“You’re not going to know where this money came from. You’re going to wake up tomorrow and you’re going to get off the streets. You’re going to dream of nice things and forget any of this happened.” As he spoke he could feel the blood starting to drip down again, against Peter’s chest in small droplets.

“Roman, don’t!”

“I love you,” he said, with words that felt so natural and at the same time a source of anxiety and dread. “Sleep.”

 

                It wasn’t long before Peter was asleep and Roman quickly cleaned up and dressed. He left the money on the table beside him and left, using the same treatment he had with Peter on the man running the motel. No one would remember he came here with him tonight; not even Roman. When he returned home that night the first thing he did was look in the mirror and tell himself to forget.  It left him standing there in confusion, knowing full well what he’d done to himself but not the reason. Even after he’d wiped the blood away and went on with his night he was still stricken with a sense of melancholy and longing for something he couldn’t identify.

 

                When Peter awoke some time the next day, he was clueless as to what had happened. Even with what should have been very obvious evidence, the minute he tried to remember or deduce what had happened his mind went completely blank.  He had enough money to never have to go back to the streets again and for that he was grateful, he just wished he knew who’d given it to him.

 

                Even with Roman erasing everyone’s memory of that night, there were still vague images of what had happened. Roman could never understand why he felt the way he did when he’d inevitably meet up with Peter again for whatever reason. He couldn’t explain why he’d have flashes of imagery he couldn’t quite make out but he knew it was in some way sexual. For Peter it was the same way.

 

                But it seemed impossible to keep the two of them apart forever. Roman never expected to find Peter in his house much less in his bed, fucking him into the mattress while Miranda, the girl he thought that maybe he’d fallen for, simply watched. That had not been the intention of course; she’d led the two of them upstairs for sex, but even she could see she was probably a third wheel.

 

                Inevitably it seemed that it really didn’t matter if Roman made both of them forget what they’d done that night. The same thing would happen again, because even if he wanted to, Roman could never get rid of Peter. He could never get rid of the feelings he had for him that surfaced again the next morning when he awoke with Miranda between the two of them. The thought that he was dismayed at their distance was enough to make him realize again that he did truly love him. But he’d keep that thought to himself. It would only complicate things and their lives were already complicated enough.

 

               

 

               


End file.
